Linden greeted them as if the past night had been one of the best of her life. She could not have named the reasons for this; it defied expectation. With Caer-Caveral's passing, important things had come to an end. She should have lamented instead of rejoicing. Yet on a level too deep for language she had recognized the necessity of which the Forestal had spoken. This Law also- Andelain had been bereft of music, but not of beauty or consolation. And the restoration of the Stonedownors made her too glad for sorrow. In a paradoxical way, Caer-Caveral's self-sacrifice felt like a promise of hope.
But Covenant's mien was clouded by conflicting emotions. With his companions, he had spent the night watching Sunder and Hollian revel among the Wraiths of Andelain-and Linden sensed that the sight gave him both joy and rue. The healing of his friends lightened his heart; the price of that healing did not. And surely he was hurt by his lack of any health-sense which would have enabled him to evaluate what the loss of the Forestal meant to Andelain.
However, there were no clouds upon the Graveler and the eh-Brand. They walked buoyantly to the place where Linden and Covenant sat; and Linden thought that some of the night's silver still clung to them, giving them a numinous cast even in daylight, like a new dimension added to their existence. Smiles gleamed from Sunder's eyes. And Hollian bore herself with an air of poised loveliness. Linden was not surprised to perceive that the child in the eh-brand's womb shared her elusive, mystical glow.
For a moment, the Stonedownors gazed at Covenant and Linden and smiled and did not speak. Then Sunder cleared his throat. “I crave your pardon that we will no longer accompany you.” His voice held a special resonance that Linden had never heard before in him, a suggestion of fire. “You have said that we are the future of the Land. It has become our wish to discover that future here. And to bear our son in Andelain.
“I know you will not gainsay us. But we pray that you find no rue in this parting. We do not-though you are precious to us. The outcome of the Earth is in your hands. Therefore we are unafraid.”
He might have gone on; but Covenant stopped him with a brusque gesture, a scowl of gruff affection. “Are you kidding?” he muttered. “I'm the one who wanted you to stay behind. I was going to ask you- ” He sighed, and his gaze wandered the hillside. “Spend as much time here as you can,” he breathed. “Stay as long as possible. That's something I've always wanted to do.”
His voice trailed away; but Linden was not listening to its resigned sadness. She was staring at Sunder. The faint silver quality of his aura was clear-and yet undefinable. It ran out of her grasp like water. Intuition tingled along her nerves, and she started speaking before she knew what she would say.
“The last time Covenant was here, Caer-Caveral gave him the location of the One Tree.” Each word surprised her like a hint of revelation. “But he hid it so Covenant couldn't reach it himself. That's why he had to expose himself to the Elohim, let them work then plots-” The bare memory brought a tremor of anger into her voice. “We should never have had to go there in the first place. Why did Caer-Caveral give him that gift-and then make it such a secret?”
Sunder looked at her. He was no longer smiling. A weird intensity filled his gaze like a swirl of sparks. Abruptly, he said, “Are you not now companioned by the Appointed of the Elohim? How otherwise could that end have been achieved?”
The strangeness of the Graveler's tone snatched back Covenant's attention. Linden felt him scrambling after inferences; a blaze of hope shot up in him. “Are you-?” he asked. “Is that it? Are you the new Forestal?”
Instead of answering. Sunder looked to Hollian, giving her the opportunity to tell him what he was.
She met his gaze with a soft smile. But she answered quietly, kindly, “No.” She had spent time among the Dead and appeared certain of her knowledge. “In such a transferral of power, the Law which Caer-Caveral sought to rend would have been preserved. Yet we are not altogether what we were. We will do what we may for the sustenance of Andelain-and for the future of the Land.”
Questions thronged in Linden. She wanted a name for the alteration she perceived. But Covenant was already speaking.
“The Law of Life.” His eyes were hot and gaunt on the Stonedownors. “Elena broke the Law of Death-the barrier that kept the living and the dead from reaching out to each other. The Law Caer-Caveral broke was the one that kept the dead from crossing back into life.”
“That is sooth,” replied Hollian. “Yet it is a fragile crossing withal, and uncertain. We are sustained, and in some manner defined, by the sovereign Earthpower of the Andelainian Hills. Should we depart this region, we would not long endure among the living.”
Linden saw that this was true. The strange gleam upon the Stonedownors was the same magic which had given Caer-Caveral's music its lambent strength. Sunder and Hollian were solid, physical, and whole. Yet in a special sense they had become beings of Earthpower-and they might easily die if they were cut off from their source.
Covenant must have understood the eh-Brand's words also. But he heard them with different ears than Linden's. As their implications penetrated him, his sudden hope went out.
That loss sent a pang through Linden. She had been concentrating too hard on Sunder and Hollian. She had not realized that Covenant had been looking for an answer to his own death.
At once, she reached out a band to his shoulder, felt the effort he made to suppress his dismay. But the exertion was over in an instant. Braced on his certainty, he faced the Stonedownors. His tone belied the struggle he made to keep it firm.
“I'll do everything I can,” he said. “But my time's almost over. Yours is just beginning. Don't waste it.”
Sunder returned a smile that seemed to make him young. “Thomas Covenant,” he promised, “we will not.”
No goodbyes were said. This farewell could not be expressed with words or embraces. Arm in arm, the Graveler and the eh-brand simply turned and walked away across the bedewed grass. After a moment, they passed the crest of the hill and were gone.
Behind them, they left a silence that ached as if nothing would be able to take their place.
Linden stretched her arm over Covenant's shoulders and hugged him, trying to tell him that she understood.
He kissed her hand, then rose to his feet. As he scanned the bright morning, the untainted sun, the flower-bedizened landscape, he sighed, “At least there's still Earthpower.”
“Yes,” Linden averred, climbing erect to join him, “The Hills haven't changed.” She did not know how else to comfort him. “Losing the Forestal is going to make a difference. But not yet.” She was sure of that. Andelain's health still surged around her in every blade and leaf, every bird and rock. No disease or weakness was visible anywhere. And the shining sun had no aura. She thought that the tangible world had never held so much condensed and treasurable beauty. Like a prayer for Andelain's endurance, she repeated, “Not yet.”
A grin of grim relish bared Covenant's teeth. "Then he can't hurt us. For a while, anyway. I hope it drives him crazy.”
Linden breathed a secret relief, hoping that he had weathered the crisis.
But all his moods seemed to change as soon as he felt them. An old bleakness dulled his gaze; haggard lines marked his mien. Abruptly, he started toward the charred stump which had once been the Forestal of Andelain.
At once, she followed him. But she stopped when she understood that he had gone to say farewell.
He touched the inert gem of the krill with his numb fingers, tested the handle's coldness with the back of his hand. Then he leaned his palms and forehead against the blackened wood. Linden could hardly hear him.